


Hoodoo

by fixed_penalty



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Belldom - Freeform, M/M, Muse - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:05:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixed_penalty/pseuds/fixed_penalty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a successful concert in the mystical city of New Orleans, Muse goes out for drinks, and Matt ends up meeting a fortune teller that is anything other than novelty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Showbiz

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little thing: I'm pretty damn new to writing chaptered fics, so the chapters will likely be really short near the beginning. I'll be trying to make them longer as I go along, and I would greatly appreciate any feedback!

“You all have been great. Thank you so much for a fantastic night. ’Till next time, New Orleans!” I smiled into the microphone, looking around the large concert hall with thousands of fans screaming our names. It really had been an amazing night.

Walking off of the stage, I give Dominic and Chris a big high-five, and we congratulate each other on our good (well, great) work. I could hear the guests in the hall filing out and the bouncers keeping some of the unruly fans behind the barricade, despite the concert having ended, and couldn’t help but smile to myself. Drones has been doing amazingly well on the charts, despite its lack of being played on the radio, and it’s more than obvious that the fan-base has multiplied in a short amount of time.

“Okay, so, another successful night. I know that we’re all beat, but come on, I’ll treat us to some drinks,” Dom suggests. I can’t deny the desire that I feel to unwind, and I know that a drink will more than definitely help that.

“I’m in,” I reply, “Chris? What about you?” I turn to the tall bassist and he gives me a slight smile.

“Matt, come on, you know that that isn’t a good idea,” he tried to joke. Chris has been over a year sober after having dealt with alcoholism for a good portion of his life, and I felt ashamed for having even thought of asking him.

I raise my hands in defense after handing my guitar to a stagehand. “You can just get a coke then? Come on, it won’t be the same without you.” I flash a wonky smile and he can’t help but shrug.

“Okay, alright. But if Kelly calls, I’m leaving before you can say…well, anything. I mean you talk pretty damn fast so I think that anything could fit.” I punch him lightly in the shoulder. “Oi, watch it.”

“Tom, you coming?” Dom yells, and I can make out a faint “yeah” in response from further behind the stage. “Alright, let’s go. In the mood to walk?” Chris and I audibly groan. “Okay then, cab it is.”

We leave through the back of the concert hall and do our best to remain inconspicuous. Chris hails a cab on the side of the road and we all get in. “Just take us to the nearest bar,” he states. The driver, an older white man, grunts in understanding.

***

Like clowns filing out of a small car, not much unlike Dom’s smart, the four of us pour out of the cab and walk into a small pub named after some sort of bird.

“Okay, okay. I don’t think you understand, okay,” I laugh, resuming our conversation from inside the cab. “If you were to be bitten in the arse by a snake, I would probably try to save you. I mean, I took a first aid course a while ago, and you’re my mate.” Dom just continues to snicker in my face. “Oh, so you’d rather I leave you for dead? All I’m saying is, I’d do the same for Chris, Tom, or anyone else.”

“Oi, I don’t want your mouth going anywhere near my bum,” Tom sneers, faking disgust. Everyone laughs.

“Well what about if a snake bit my knob,” Dom asks cheekily.

“Then I apologize, old friend, but I would let you die.” At this everyone, including me, goes into hysterics, and the laughing only subsides when we get a table inside the bar. “I’ll start taking drink orders. What d’you all want?”

“I’ll have a beer, thanks,” Tom states. Dom nods his head in agreement.

“A coke is fine for me,” Chris smiles.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, turning around toward the bar. Just as I reach the counter, something catches my eye in the back corner of the pub. In purple neon lights, an arrow points down a small set of stairs. Around the arrow is lettering, simply saying, “fortune telling.” I decide that the boys can wait a few extra minutes for their drinks. I mean hey, when in New Orleans, right?


	2. The Small Print

"Please, have a seat," the old woman says to me as I walk in. She is wearing simple clothing consisting of a dark blouse, maroon skirt, and an assortment of sparkling jewelry. "How are you enjoying your stay in New Orleans so far, Matthew?"

"Oh, you're a fan?" I ask. I mean, how else could she have known my name with me just walking in and sitting down?

"We can just say that I am up to date with news and other facts," she smiles, her southern accent drawling.

"Okay, anyway, how much is this gonna cost and how long is it gonna take? I've got my friends waiting on drinks," I say as I sit down across from her.

"Don't worry yourself with price. And the time will determine on how much you are willing to help me help you." She puts her hands out and nods at them, meaning I place my own in hers. Closing her eyes, she starts to hum lowly. "Little is going to be accomplished if you don't take action, Matthew."

I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off. "Vague, I know. Allow me to clarify. There is going to be an unexpected romance manifesting in you life sometime soon. You already know the person in question. Some form of unrequited love has been present for a long time, and that will soon be alleviated."

"I'm on tour, my band is getting more successful by the day. I don't have time for love," I sneer the last word.

"Look, you wanted to know your future, right? I'm not making this stuff up as I go along," she snaps. "When you do realize the nature of this relationship, you'll feel hesitant at first, however knowing you, you'll figure out your true feelings in due time."

Laughing, I take my hands from hers. I stand up to leave, and before I turn the handle on the door, she yells, "Also, Chris changed his mind. He would like a Sprite instead of a Coke." I shake my head and quickly leave the small room that is now seeming more like a closet as opposed to a psychic's office.

***

"Took you long enough," I jab, making sure to exaggerate my impatience as Matt walks up to our table.

"I'm starting to think you have separation anxiety," he jokes. I stick my tongue out at him.

I turn to Chris, who looks somewhat disappointed. "I wanted to ask you if you could get me a Sprite instead of a Coke, but I couldn't find you at the bar." At this, Matthew's eyes goo wide for a moment. "Where were you?"

He turns around to point at this small stairwell near the back with fluorescent lights indicating some sort of psychic. Tom snorts. "Didn't know you believed in that sort of thing, mate. Then again, if aliens are so obviously real, why not psychics?" He laughs ridiculously loud, causing all of us to join in, even Matt.

"Whatever," Matt blushes. "If you're going to poke fun at me then I might as well just take back your beer," he smirks, as he reaches his hand out to grab the glass.

"Uh-uh-uh!" Tom is faster and picks the beverage up, causing it to spill a bit, and finishes it off in one gulp. "If you're getting the drinks, I can probably deal with your supernatural fascinations."

After that, everyone starts talking about something completely unrelated, however I'm not paying much attention. All I can really do in this moment is try my best to not stare at Matt. Yeah, I know it's horribly cliche, and probably something some fan would write about in one of those fanfiction things - yes, I have read some! - but I just can't help myself. Something seemed off about him as soon as he came back with the drinks. I highly doubt that Chris or Tom noticed, but I've always seemed to be more perceptive around Matt. His face is flushed and his eyes seem to be unable to stay in one place for longer than a split second - he looks buzzed without having so much as a drop of alcohol.

My own eyes moved to his hands as they moved to pull his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the pale skin underneath and drawing special attention to his lean and veiney hands. I hate to admit it, but I am helplessly into my band mate. I've known him for over twenty years and I remember always feeling different around him in school. Some might describe it as just a form of brotherhood but I was pretty damn close with my other friends in school. However, I of course brushed it off as nothing.

But who am I kidding? I don't feel the same as I did in primary school. In fact, that attraction, for lack of a better word, seems to have grown over the years. Sure, I've known I was bisexual since I was in my early twenties, however I never expected there to be any romantic feelings toward this man child. He looks like a bird! His nose is an enigma and if if not for his height and subtle facial hair, I would have thought him to be a twelve-year-old with ADHD. Before I am able to continue over-analyzing my dilemma, I hear my name called and am pulled out of my thoughts.

"Sorry, what was that?" I feel my face getting hot.

"Marry, fuck, kill: Kanye, Miley Cyrus, and someone from the band," Chris giggles. I look at him, feeling betrayed, and this just causes his laughs to grow in volume. "Sorry, it was Tom's idea to play." He shrugs.

"Argh, fine," I groan, holding the bridge of my nose. "Marry Kanye, kill Miley, and..." I trail off, realizing my fault all too late. Tom, Chris, and Matt break out into howling laughter.

"Who! Who would you shag?" Tom leans toward me on the table, trying to calm down his breathing due to the laughing. "And why kill Miley?"

"You know why," Matt snickers. "He wishes he could have her wardrobe to himself. Ow!" He glares at me after I deliver a sharp kick under the table.

"You never specified who, so I don't believe I need to say," I cross my arms. "Anyway, what would your picks be?"

Before anyone gets a chance to answer, the shrill tone of a cellphone fills the air and Chris picks up his mobile, holding it to his ear. I could see him mouth his wife's name and he turns around to walk outside in order to hear her better.

"Okay, so we lost Chris," I sigh. "Whatever. Fill 'er up for me, would you, love?" Lifting up my now empty beer glass, I narrow my eyes at Matt, feeling a large smile start to form on my face.

"Me too, babe. And if you take even half as much time as earlier, you might earn yourself a nice tip," Tom follows my lead.

"Sod off," Matt snaps, but he was unable to keep the corners of his mouth from spreading into a small grin.


	3. Feeling Good

"Okay, let's go, pick those feet up," I groan, trying my best to hold Matt up. I wink at the woman standing behind the reception desk as we walk into our hotel, and make a beeline straight for the elevators. "What floor are you on?"

"Sff-van!" Matt giggles and I can feel myself losing my grip.

I readjust his arm so it is better placed on my shoulders and wrap my right arm around his waist, in order to ensure he stays upright. I feel his head shift and interpret that as a nod. Before long, the silence in the narrow hallway containing the lifts is broken as a shrill ding indicates the arrival of our "ride."

Stepping into the elevator, while making sure that Matthew is still conscious and coherent, I prop him up against the back wall and turn around to press the button and close the door. "Remind me to never let you mix sake and red wine again," I sigh, turning back around to face the brunet. "I can barely handle you when you're sober, let alone drunk!" My tone is serious however I cannot keep the corners of my mouth from turning up, and before I know it, the two of us are laughing like idiots.

"Mmmmmmmm," Matt hums contently. "You're no fun." He pokes my ribs, which causes me to break out into another fit of laughter which he shortly joins in on. Yeah, I would be lying if I said I hadn't had a few beers. A few.  
The doors of the lift open suddenly, and Matt takes that as his queue to force himself up and return his arm over my shoulder. Through all of the alcohol I can smell on his breath, and possibly even a few hints of vomit (yuck), I can still make out his distinct and familiar scent, comprised of your typical deodorant and sweat, along with his minty and natural shampoo. I have to ask him what brand it is.  
As I feel his weight increasing and find it more and more difficult to carry along my friend, I sigh and step right in front of him, holding my arms out behind me. "Get on, I'm not carrying you like that any further. I'll lose all function in my right side if you keep hanging off of me like that." He lets out a genuine and throaty laugh, and hops on my back. I will admit, I am taken aback by his weight, however he is quite small, so it's not a big deal.

Matthew's arms snake around to my front and he pats my chest. "Onward!" He giggles some more as he points down the hall, and I hope to god we aren't being too bothersome, for the sake of the other guests at the hotel. I try to shush him, but he keeps laughing. Before I know it, we're running down the hall and I'm trying my best to keep my laughs quiet. Just as I'm about to tell him to shut the hell up, he leans back and pulls on my shoulders with a breathy "woah!" I slow down and let my arms fall, as he gets off of my back to pull out his room key. Just as I turn around to head to my room, I hear a rather loud and juvenile sounding whine.  
I turn my head slightly to look at the man, pouting and glaring daggers at me. "I'll see you in the morning," I say, firmly.

Before I manage to start walking away, I hear a faint shout from Matt's room. "Hey Dom! Spiderman is on!" Damn him. Damn him to hell.

"You can't be serious," I chuckle, before hearing the familiar theme. I groan, unable to resist my childhood, and head back to his room. Closing the door, I hear him turning up the TV. I find him lounging on the dark leather couch placed against the wall of the "Rec room" of his suite, not much unlike mine, and manage to heave a sigh as I see the matching chairs covered in clothing, newspapers, novels, and notebooks. Not in the mood to move all of his belongings, I trudge over to the couch, just narrowly avoiding hitting my shin against the glass coffee table (also covered in miscellaneous belongings, might I add), and pick up his legs in order to make room for me to sit down on the couch. I prop my elbow on top of the arm of the couch and lean the left side of my face against my hand, trying to conceal the smile on my face.

***

Man, is he stupid, I lightly snort as I look at Dominic. I thought my performance had been sub-par at best, however somehow he still manages to think I'm drunk off my face. I've known the former-blond for over twenty years, he should know by now that I don't have trouble holding my liquor.

His face is turned away from me, which I will admit, is a bit disappointing, however I still get to appreciate the slightly-obstructed scene in front of me. As my eyes make their way to his arms, I remember one interview in which a fan had written in saying that his biceps belonged in the Museum of Modern Art. That could not be more true. The short sleeves of his black "tie-dye" All Saints t-shirt are slightly pushed up, giving me a better view. While he is obviously engrossed in the movie, I haven't the slightest idea of what's going on with Peter Parker, and quite frankly, I don't care. The way that Dominic's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows, the steady rising and falling of the ridiculous necklaces on his chest, and his disheveled hair could keep me occupied for hours. No, screw that. They do keep me occupied for hours.

He throws his head back, his mouth wide open and my room fills with laughter. I look at the screen to see the new hero fumbling with his hand, first splayed awkwardly in the air, then held loosely as if he were starting a Shakespearean monologue, and then in the form of your typical "rock-on" position. I suppose, had I actually been watching the film, it would be funny, however I find myself much more entertained watching Dom wipe a tear from his eye. So as to not seem totally conspicuous, I force out a half-hearted laugh and I try to bring my focus back to the large screen, although that's nearly impossible to do if a man as gorgeous as the one sitting, with my legs on his lap, starts rubbing small circles into the skin of my left calf. I try not to move or shift too awkwardly, scared that he might stop the endearing action.

I tilt my head slightly to sneak a quick glance at his own, and I notice that his eyes were fixed on me for a split second before reverting back to the screen. I smirk slightly, and I look absently around the dim room. I take note of the fire procedure attached to the door, the absurdly-priced in-room snacks and mini bar, the open mahogany closet open just enough to see my jacket and suitcase sprawled inside, and I then find my gaze fixed back on Dominic. Out of shock due to eyes (grey? hazel? what are they?) meeting my own, I can't help but laugh. I notice him turn away and the tips of his ears grow dark, indicating a deep blush. "We're just like teenagers, you know that?" I ask, trying to get his attention back on me.

"Sorry? How do you mean?"

"You idiot," I laugh, as I lightly kick him. Hoping that my drunk facade is still passable, I muster the courage needed to vocalize my thoughts. "You're hot," I spit out, silently praying that when he reacts negatively, he'll remember it as just a drunk mistake.

"I'm sorry?" He turns back to look at me, his right eyebrow raised questioningly.

"You. Are. Hot," I say again, lightly kicking him with each word to further prove my point.

"Yeah, and you're drunk," he snorts. Does he mean that he still thinks that I'm drunk, meaning that if he believes that to be true, he thinks he is hot as well? Or does he know that I'm faking it, meaning that by saying a lie like that, he isn't away of his complete beauty? Or am I just overthinking it like the twat that I am?

I point at him, trying to pull a serious expression. "Not drunk enough. You want something to drink?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes. "If you could, just a water, thanks." I pull my legs from their comfortable position on his lap and trudge over to the kitchenette. Grabbing a glass from the clean white cabinet, I fill it with ice from the ice bucket and then follow with water, only to repeat the actions for myself. I pick the glasses up from off the sleek, black granite counter top and walk back over to Dominic. Noticing that he happened to return his focus to the movie during my brief absence, I place our glasses on the coffee table and take a seat next to him, only to pull my legs up on top of the couch and slightly lean my head on his shoulder, causing me to notice him tensing up.

As I get ready to shift my weight so I am on the other side of the couch, ready to apologize and play it off as a mistake, I feel Dom relax and move his own head so that it is resting on my own, causing me to nearly melt in place. I suppose, if he is alright with this, I should be alright if I just close my eyes and... doze.... off......


	4. Soaked

I wake up to feel soft breathing on my shoulder. As my eyes flutter open, I cran my neck to see the source of the air, and low and behold, Matthew James Bellamy is sleeping on my chest. Mine. My own chest. The thought of doing something so intimate with him in the past was enough to send me into a frenzy, and now that it is actually happening, I fear that the patrons staying in the other rooms of the hotel can hear my heartbeat.

I can just barely make out the darting of his pupils under his eyelids, indicating that he is either in a dream or feigning sleep. His hair is an absolute mess, and his nose is slightly squished against my "pecs," if you can call them that. I would smile if I wasn't aware of the fact that he could wake up any second and the whole situation could shatter our perfectly fine relationship in seconds.

Slowly lifting my arms, still heavy with fatigue, I move his head off of my body and try to gently rest it on the arm of the leather couch, still warm from when my arm was propped upon it. While doing this, Matt stirs slightly and I can see his eyebrows knit (in distress or agitation, I don't know). My breath hitches and I back away from the dozing figure, making sure not to cause too much noise.

Before I know it, I feel a light jab in my knees and find myself toppling backwards over the inconveniently convenient coffee table, and manage to yell a distinct "fuck!" just before I hit the ground. As I accept my fate, now lying back on the floor, my hand shielding my eyes and likely scarlet face, my groans are drowned out by the sound of hysterical laughter.

"What a fucking wanker," Matt cackles, now wide awake. "One hell of an alarm clock, you are." Wiping the cumulative tears from his eyes, he takes a better look at the scene I had caused and tries his best to hide a smile as he attempts anger. "Look at what you've done, you messed up my things! I had a system!" He picks up a notebook and wipes his nose, obviously in effort to hide a giggle.

"Okay, one, you very clearly had no system. Piling completely unrelated papers on top of one another does not count as organization," I glare, not in the mood to get told off for moving his shit around. "Two, I could have gotten seriously hurt! Do you not care about your friend?" I prop myself up and rub the backs of my knees, as well as my lower back, it having absorbed most of the fall.

Matthew's face turns facetiously sympathetic and he sticks his lower lip out in a pout. "Aw, Dommeh, are you alright? Do you need a doctor? Should I take you to the hospital? Should I kiss your boo-boos better?" Unable to keep his facade, the brunet again erupts into violent laughter, and I am actually thankful for that because it means he didn't see my face burn up at his last jab.

"Fuck off," I groan, finally getting to my feet. In doing so, I tragically get a whiff of my current scent, which is far from pleasant, and make my way for the door. "I need a shower."

"Oh, come on, Dom. You know I was joking," Matt sighs. "Hey, to make it up to you for both your hurt feelings and hurt arse, you can shower here, if you like. I mean, I know your faff bag is in your room but it'd just be easier, you know?"

It feels like my heart is about to leap out of my chest. I always laughed at movies when it said shit like that but now that I am feeling it for myself, I realize I need to re-evaluate my views on "love." I turn around and my lips stretch thin as I try my best to look annoyed at Matthew. The growing smile on his face shows that my efforts are naught, and I shake my head slightly, allowing my face to relax a bit.

I wade into his bedroom to get to the en suite, and can't help but notice how his bed and general belongings are in the same state of disarray as the rest of the hotel room, and I chuckle lightly as I kick a pair of bright red briefs on the floor. Doesn't surprise me, in all honesty. "I'll just use one of your towels, yeah?" I shout into the other room as I reach the shower and start to turn it on. The faint mumble in response sounded enough like a "sure," so if it was a "no," Matt'll have to deal with it.

***

This really isn't like me at all. Sure, last night was nice, but it's not like I'm into Dom, right? Yeah I was a little buzzed. Who doesn't fantasize about their friend when their mind is fogged with alcohol?

Then again, I don't feel hungover in the slightest, and the nausea and brutal headaches following a night of hard drinking is something I would rather deal with than what I'm thinking right now.

Shit.

I think I'm into Dom.

The efforts to convince myself that inviting him to shower in my room was something any friend would do come up fruitless, and I simply decide on keeping myself distracted from the fact that Dominic is in the room next to mine, with no clothing on, while he likely uses my shampoo to lather his beautiful hair.

Fuck. I need to stop this. It is not helping me in the slightest and I've never been the best at being subtle. I get up to walk into my room, and fall onto the simple white duvet. As I close my eyes in hopes of getting a bit more sleep, I can't help but smile at the sounds coming from the bathroom.

"Don't stop me now, I'm having such a good time.

I'm having a ball, don't stop me now.

If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call."

Despite him being horribly off-tune, I can feel my heart start to swell at the endearing and shameless actions performed by one of my best friends.

But I'm still going to make fun of him for it later.

Once I hear the water turn off, I practically fall off the bed in efforts to get myself out of the room, not wanting to seem creepy or like I was waiting for him. As the bathroom door opens, I busy myself with the papers and files still on the floor from Dominic's tumble, and I manage to sneak a quick peak behind me as I see him step out of the bathroom. Not unlike a movie or some horribly cliche fan-written story, the steam from the shower clouds the view for a few seconds before subsiding, and what's left is Dom, drying his hair messily with a towel, and only having white terrycloth covering his lower half. I have to remind myself to look away and to actually breath, as just seeing him as such seemed to have prevented me from doing so. Even when physically looking at the notes, sheet music, and magazines in front of me, all I can seem to see are his perfectly sculpted arms, lightly tanned skin, taut chest, and oh my god his neck, still covered with small patches of shaving cream.

Swearing like a sailor in the safe confines of my mind, I remind myself to stay calm and to do anything other than run up to the toweled drummer and suck on his face. Upon placing my paper belongings back on the coffee table, I smirk and stand up, only to walk to the doorway to my bedroom and lean against the frame while trying to avoid laughing.

"So, uh, Dom," I start. "Fan of Queen, are we?" I already know the answer, but not only do I want to see how he would react, I am shamefully craving his attention.

His face, going from a content expression to serious embarrassment, brightens and he does his best to laugh it off, knowing he'd been caught. "You heard me, huh?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I laugh along, opening one of the drawers under the flat screen across from my bed, and I pick out some dark grey jeans and a black v-neck.

Now on the defensive, I see Dom place his hand on his hip. "Well I'm sorry, not everyone was born with the voice of an angel," he scoffs, and I'm too intrigued by his current position and tone to focus on what he had actually said about my voice. I scoff, leading to a short and simple close to the conversation: "I'll stick to the drums, don't get your panties in a knot."

I fully turn my body in order to look straight at him, and unable to hide the goofy grin on my face I retort, "and what would you know about my panties?"

Before I know it, the two of us are doubled over in laughter and I can't help but continue laughing even when Dominic starts to properly dry his hair with the complementary blow-dryer, and I can't help but feel like all of my nervous and irrational fears from earlier were exactly that: irrational. Whether he had a thing for me or not, Dom is my mate and I can't deny that I love to just spend time with him, even if we are ripping on each-other most of the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! Okay, so as finals are coming up for me, I likely won't be writing nearly as often as I currently am. Now, I'm not promising anything, but I am hoping that I'll be able to add a new chapter once a week. But, you know, I'm young, I have school to cry about, and general lack of motivation, so that's why I'm not making any promises.  
> Anyhow, I hope that you're enjoying the story!  
> (Also, the song that Dom was singing was Don't Stop Me Now, by Queen, in case you were wondering!)


	5. Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo okay I feel so incredibly guilty for not updating in two weeks.... yikes. Anyhow, here's an update, and again I apologize. I hit major writer's block and I have no idea where this fic is headed, I'm just making it up as I go along.  
> Enjoy!

"I hate this game," I whine, as Chris takes the white cards from the center of the table, yet again.

Feeling a poke to my side, I turn to see Elle trying her best to stifle a laugh. "You can't hate something just because you're bad at it," she smiles.

"I damn well can!" Everyone laughs and I feel my face get hot as I take a new white card. Squinting, I see that Chris played the newest black card, "Hey there, young scientists! Put on your lab coats and strap on your safety goggles, because today we're learning about ________________!" My eyes immediately find the white card in my hand that I have been holding onto for so long, and I place it face down in the center of the table, trying to not look too victorious.

I hear snorts and giggles from around the table as Morgan, Tom, Elle, and Dom follow suit. Chris lets out a slight grin as he picks up the white cards and reads them aloud. In the dramatic tone he had adopted since we started playing Cards Against Humanity, he bellows, "Hey there, young scientists! Put on your lab coats and strap on your safety goggles, because today we're learning about...." He places the first white card out for us to see. "Stephen Hawking talking dirty," Morgan cackles as the next white card falls. "...A bass drop so huge it tears the starry vault asunder to reveal the face of God," I turn my head to my left to see Dominic shaking and looking down, trying his best not to laugh. Of course, that one was his. "...teaching a robot to love," I feel Elle's arm wrap around my waist and give me a small squeeze. I assume that was hers. "...uranus," I grin widely and allow the pride to swallow my face. I mean, that was the best one! "...and a salty surprise." Tom completely loses it and lightly bangs his hand on the table. What a tit.

"Well, I think it's clear who the winner is," I smirk, holding my hand out to accept my very first black card.

"Definitely," Chris laughs. "Who put down this one," he asks, holding up the "bass drop" card. Of course he would pick that. Of course he would.

That doesn't keep me from feeling betrayed, though. I let my mouth fall open as Dom pridefully takes the black card, Tom and Morgan patting him on the back.

"B-but," I sputter. "That doesn't even make any sense!! A scientist would actually  _want_ to study Uranus!"

Scooting a bit closer, Elle rests her head on my shoulder and I can feel her smile against my shirt. "It's not supposed to make sense, Matty," she coos. "It's just supposed to be funny. You have to stop taking everything so literally!" She put holds up her deck of white cards and places them at the bottom of the draw pile. "Here, you and I can be a team." I sigh, and show her my cards as Dom pulls the new black card.

"________________. That's how I want to die." Everyone around the small poker table grows silent, eyeing their cards. I feel a slight movement in my own hand, and I see Elle pointing to one that says "My collection of high-tech sex toys." Had I been drinking something, I would have spit the beverage out in a certainly comical fashion. I would never have expected my girlfriend to pick something so... crude, for lack of a better word. In all honesty, I would have expected that more from Dom.

Who happens to be the Card Czar.

Perfect.

I give her a small peck on the cheek and pull the card from my hand, placing it face down yet again, this time in front of Dominic.

After all other cards are laid out, Dom picks them up and chuckles to himself as he reads them over. "72 virgins. That's how I want to die." He quirks his head in agreement, and smirks as he reads the next cards. "Sexy pillow fights. That's how I want to die." Next card. "An icepick lobotomy. That's how I want to die. You know, that actually sounds pretty painful." I feel myself smirking in anticipation, knowing that my card is next. Dom reads it over and nearly falls out of his seat before getting the chance to say it aloud. Between laughs, he manages, "My collection of high-tech sex toys. That's how I want to die." Holding his face in his hand as he tries to stop laughing, he holds out the black card and I dutifully take it.

Everyone looks at me in shock. "You put that down," Morgan says slowly, his mouth quickly widening with his grin. "Finally," he says, leaning back in his chair, "you're getting ahold of the game. Took you long enough, you wanker." I can't help but start laughing and it doesn't take long for Chris, Tom, Elle, and Dominic to join in.

"I don't know what's funnier," Tom gasps, "the actual combination or the fact that our 'wittle Matty put it down."

"Well, I can't take all the credit," I smile. "As much as I would like to say that it was all due to my comedic genius, Elle was the one that helped me out." I turn to her, and, eyeing her lips, lean my face forward to join our mouths together in a sloppy yet pleasant kiss.

~~~

I really shouldn't be feeling as jealous as I am right now. Shouldn't I be happy that Matt is happy?

I should!

But then, of course, my mind has to remind me of the occurrences that happened after our New Orleans show.

But he was drunk.

But he didn't have that much to drink, if I recall correctly.

I free myself from my rapid-fire thoughts to unfortunately see the "lovely" couple swapping spit across from me. "Get a room, Jesus," I hear Chris groan, and I am certainly thankful someone was able to speak up and prevent them from devouring each other's faces. I try to ignore the utterly adorable blush that creeps onto Matt's face, however fail dramatically. Knowing that it would be beneficial for me to free myself from the uncomfortable situation, I stretch my legs and push my chair back, and stand up.

"Anyone want a drink," I ask, turning toward the empty bar in the hotel lobby.

"I'll have a red wine, thanks," Matt yells, before adding, "make it two. Zinfandel, if they have any."

"Just water for me," Chris shouts.

"I could go for a pint," Morgan says, just barely audible from my location, now at the bar. "Tom wants one too."

I turn to the young brunette bartender, rattle off the orders, and throw in a rum and coke for myself. After pouring the final drink, she looks up at me and I can see her wink in the dim light. I will admit, she is quite pretty - despite her hair being pulled back, a few loose strands frame her face nicely. She has high cheekbones, blue eyes, and a thin nose. She kind of looks like someone I know. A certain vocalist with an inability to pronounce "r"s, to be more specific.

I shake my head slightly, attempting to clear my thoughts, and do my best to carry all six drinks without spilling one. I successfully make my way back to the table, and place the refreshments in front of everyone, letting out a relieved breath after having my arms free. "Mate, that bartended was eyeing your ass the whole way over here," Chris smirks.

I force out a nervous laugh and follow with a small spin on my heel, holding my arms out. "What can I say, I'm irresistible."

Yeah. Irresistible to basically everyone except that god damn vocalist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, a small shameless promo for me. I recently changed my personal tumblr into one dedicated to Muse, as is my entire life, so if you have your own blog, feel free to follow me at rocket-baby-dolls.tumblr.com , and I'll follow back if you post Muse-related things as well!


	6. Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting somewhere!

Normally, I would be ecstatic about scoring such a nice piece of ass. Well, not  _ecstatic_ , given the fact that being so unbelievably attractive is one of my most noticeable features, but I would be satisfied.

On a normal occasion.

Unfortunately, this is not a normal occasion.

On my left side, I could feel warmth press into my shoulder. I turn my head slightly to be met with a brown head of hair. "Nat, I'm really sorry, but I'm just exhausted. I don't think I really have enough energy for a shag." Natalia lifts her head up to narrow her blue eyes at me, and huffs a bit.

After leaving the bar, it having closed not long after the gang and myself wrapped up our Cards Against Humanity game, I found myself headed to my hotel room with the flirty and obviously interested bartender whom I was told was checking out my arse. I'm guessing that after she closed up, she changed out of her work clothes as she is now wearing a slightly skimpy black skirt and lavender halter top as opposed to her former all-black ensemble.

"Well, aren't you a fun one," she groans, now toying with the buttons of my shirt. I lift my hand to prevent hers from fully undoing the buttons of my shirt, however I am met with her own thin fingers intertwining with mine as she moves her face, or more specifically, her mouth, to my neck. I let out a deep breath, staring lazily at the beige wall across from me, and feel her trailing wet kisses along my collarbone and up my neck. When she makes it to my jaw, she plants a light peck on the left corner of my mouth, and moves her head back to look at me. "Are you sure you're too tired?"

I smile as enthusiastically as I can, and shrug, "Well, I suppose it's too early to tell, hmm?" As Natalia adjusts herself to straddle my hips on the couch, my right hand moves to the back of her neck and my left finds the small of her back. Her own hands lace themselves in my hair and I lean in, my lips meeting hers. For what seems to be maybe thirty seconds, we exchange passionate, closed-mouth kisses before I can feel her tongue prodding my lip. Given the situation, her tongue isn't the only thing that's prodding something, although I hope that she doesn't feel too weirded out.

I open my mouth and begin to suck on her tongue, something many of my former partners seemed to enjoy. By the sounds of her soft moans, I can tell that she isn't an exception. I feel my groin start to heat up even more as I feel a buzzing sensation near my legs. "Babe," I whisper, noting the string of saliva from our recently parted lips. "You're vibrating."

She laughs a little, and her eyebrows knit in slight confusion. "I'm sorry?" It doesn't take her long to feel and hear what I am experiencing and her slight giggles become somewhat obnoxious laughter. She removes her hands from my hair and pats her bum, probably checking for a phone. "Not mine, sorry. Must be yours?"

I mimic her actions, only to come up with the same fruitless results. I grope randomly across the couch until my right hand meets with the cold screen of my iPhone. I turn it on and sigh, not surprised but definitely relieved by what's on the screen.

 **What're u up to?** , followed by

**Hey Dom what's up?**

**Dommm**

**You tit answer me.**

**It's rude to keep a lady waiting..**

I kiss her lightly and give her a quick apologetic look. Natalia seems to take the hint that my phone has my complete attention now, and sighs. Rolling her eyes, she hops off of my lap and bends down slightly near the left arm of the dark leather couch to pick up her bag. Again, on a normal occasion, I would be enjoying the sight of a gorgeous woman in such a position, but as was previously established, this is no normal occasion. Before leaving, she turns from the doorway and says, obviously disappointed, "I gave you my number earlier. Not sure if you'd be down, but there's a cool party one of my friends is throwing tomorrow night. It would be really cool if you could stop by." And with that, I am left alone to my room with a half hard-on and an unanswered text message.

 **I'm sorry, a lady? Sorry to break it to you, mate, but ladies have class ;**** , I quickly reply. Not even a minute later, I get another message.

**That was rude and completely uncalled for.**

**You called me a tit! Not to mention, I was about to get some.**

I look at the small chat bubble with repeatedly lightening and darkening "...," before a short message pops up, not correlating with the time he seemed to take when typing.

**She left?**

**I assume "about to get some" would imply that, so yes.**

**Yeesh, man, I'm sorry.**

I type out, "it's no big deal," but before I can hit send, I receive another message. 

**You want to come over and hang out?**

~~~

Not having gotten a response from my seemingly casual enough invitation, I will admit, has me nervous and feeling somewhat let down. I mean, I apologized for interrupting him! And his last message seemed more sarcastic than angry.

I'm startled out of my miniature crisis by a succession of knocks on the door. I practically skip to the entrance and after confirming my suspicions via peep-hole, I welcome Dominic in.

"I thought Elle would be here," he says nonchalantly as he makes himself at home on my couch.

"She was, she just left maybe half an hour ago." Lies. She actually didn't come with me back to my room.

"Ah," Dom mumbles as he picks up a magazine from the clear coffee table. "So, what do you want to do?"

"What?"

"Did you just invite me over here so I could read your effeminate magazines and drink all of the booze from your mini bar?" He laughs, and I feel myself begin to loosen up. "Not that I'd had a problem with that."

"Well, I was thinking we could watch some telly or something." And hoping we could recreate what happened two nights ago. "Unless you have other ideas." Please don't have other ideas.

"Sounds good to me." He puts down the magazine and picks up the remote, and turns on the TV. "You want to channel surf or buy a movie?"

"Pay for a movie?" I exclaim. "They're, like, eight dollars!"

"You don't have eight dollars to spend freely?" He raises an eyebrow at me and I do everything in my power to not melt on the spot.

"I refuse to subjugate to capitalism," I say as calmly as I can, only for Dominic to burst into laughter. Instead of feeling offended, I follow him in his outburst and make my way to sit on the other end of the couch, wiping a tear out of my left eye while stifling giggles.

He moves his attention back to the screen and sighs, throwing the remote between us on the cushions. "Nothing good on anyway." He stands up and stretches slightly, the hem of his shirt riding just high enough for me to see the dips of his back. Hot damn, emphasis on "hot." "D'you got your computer? We could watch something on Netflix."

"Yeah, it's on the bed." I make myself comfortable, taking off my pointed leather shoes and resting my feet on the coffee table.

Dom comes back not long after leaving and plops down next to me, handing me my laptop. I enter my password and pull up the browser to search "Netflix."

"You smell something," Dom asks, sniffing loudly to emphasize his question.

"No, not really," I reply, browsing the movies that appeared in "Watch Instantly."

His eyes land on my still socked feet and he scrunches his nose. He moves his face a bit closer to the table and dramatically fake gags. "Jesus Christ, man. You would think something died in your shoes.

I lift my leg up gracefully and pull my foot toward my face, taking a quick sniff. "They don't smell  _that_ bad. It's been worse."

Dom scoffs, and leans over my shoulder as I put my foot down. "How about that one?" He points at a movie titled  _The Da Vinci Code_ and, ignoring my rapidly beating heart, nod. I click on the movie and it starts. I try to not make things too awkward in scooting closer, resting the laptop between my right thigh and his left, my apparently stinky feet joining his on the coffee table. The opening credits start, and I lean my head back into the comfortable couch a bit.

"Psst, hey, Matt," Dom whispers.

"Hmm," I mumble, not removing my eyes from the screen. He pokes me in the side a bit roughly. "Okay, what," I turn to face him and am met with soft lips on mine. I try to see if I can taste any hard liquor on his lips without seeming too needy, and come up empty. I relax even further and enjoy the moment.

 


	7. Crying Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes!!! Sorry about the horribly late update! I just got out of finals week, so I had no time whatsoever to write, and tried my best to ignore my crippling post-concert depression following the best night of my life (Muse's Chicago show). Anyhow, I apologize if this chapter is total shit, but I need to ease back into the groove of things and give this thing some kind of direction.  
> So, without further ado, here is chapter 7.

I wake up with a slight weight on my right shoulder. Moving my head slightly, I’m met with tufts of brown hair. My breath hitches in my throat and in all honesty, I’m shocked. Matt Bellamy was sleeping next to me, with his head on my shoulder. My best friend. Isn’t this a bit gay? Of course, I’m not using the term as a synonym for “stupid,” rather, “guy-on-guy romance” type thing.

Not that I’m complaining, although I can’t be sure if I can say the same for Matthew.

Doing my best to take in the situation while remaining still, despite my overwhelming joy, I remain seated while listening contentedly to Matt’s deep and steady breathing. Slowly lifting my left arm, I do my best to contort my body in a way that I can reach the remote sitting near my foot on the glass table while still keeping Matt still (and hopefully comfortable).

I manage to do exactly that without any awkward “good morning”s, and I turn on the telly, hoping to find something good on. Of course, with just my luck, the volume is on louder than anybody could possibly need, and Matt jolts up, hitting the side of my head with his own.

“Oww,” I groan, as he looks around, somewhat confused, before recognition settles on his face. That moment of calm, however, is quickly replaced by distress.

“Dom, do you remember what happened last night?” I feel my face redden at his question and he correctly interprets that as a yes. I scratch the back of my head. “Right. Well.” Lifting his left hand to his face, he pinches the bridge of his wonky nose and sighs. “You can’t say anything. Yes, I know, it was just a kiss, nothing drastic like  _ sex _ , but… you know. I’m with Elle. While I know that it was just a silly mistake, I don’t think she would be particularly happy to hear of me kissing another bloke.”

Doing my absolute best to feign understanding and mask the disappointment that seemed likely to consume me any minute, I nod. “Yeah, you’re right. It was a mistake. We don’t have to talk about it again.” Despite his obvious attempt at avoiding eye contact, I swear he looked saddened for a moment. Then again, that was more than likely just my wishful thinking.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Before I get a chance to ask if he would like to run out for coffee with me, he gets up off the couch and heads toward the door, opening it and holding it open. “Well, I need to get ready, our flight is at two. You should probably get to your room, anyhow.” I nod in understanding, again trying my best to not look disappointed, and walk out of the room without another word.

~~~

As I close the door, I walk tiredly to the couch. When I hear the doors of the elevator close, I flop down, face first. “Fuck!”

Dom must think I hate him or something. Of course I had to say shit like that. I mean, yeah, as best friends, I understand the importance of us being straight up with each other, but was I really being honest with him? With myself?

_ He  _ kissed  _ me _ . Not the other way around. Did I enjoy it? Shit, yes. Knowing him, he definitely has the upper hand in that department, given his long track record of sensual and romantic activity. I swear, I can still remember how, despite the brief nature of the kiss, his soft and full lips moved in perfect harmony with my own. And good God, do I want more.

Although, like he said, we don’t have to talk about it again. He probably regrets it. I want to say that it’s probably because of his, well,  _ dom _ inant nature. Despite his less-than-flamboyant style in the past (and sometimes even now), he is obviously the type of person to take charge in a relationship, whether it be romantic or sexual. Doing “things” with another guy wouldn’t give him that, especially if that guy were to be me.

Who am I kidding, I want to be that guy.

While going over the dilemma in my head, my eyes darted around the room and landed on the clock above the television, reminding me of the half-hour that I have to get ready for our flight to our next gig, in Toronto. Oh, joy, I just am beside myself with excitement at the thought of hours of uncomfortable silence on a plane with Dominic.

Frowning deeply at the thought while simultaneously scolding myself for my careless - albeit, rude - actions this morning, I force myself off of the couch and stub my toe on the edge of the coffee table as I make my way to my bedroom to pack.

\--- --- ---

As Dom, Chris, Morgan, Tom, and myself had all stayed in the same hotel, we all thought it best to call Uber for a ride to the airport. After loading all of our belongings into the large car, we file in, and I can’t help but notice Dom’s attempt to distance himself from me, as when I climb into the very back, he opts for the passenger seat in front. In the back, Tom is sitting next to me, showing off his photographs from his day out yesterday. While I will admit, they are indeed very nice, I only smile and nod when deemed appropriate so as to not be disrespectful. Trying not to be conspicuous, I find myself occasionally (in a loose sense of the word, as it was more like once every few minutes) glancing toward the front of the car. Dom, who hadn’t said a single word to me since we left the hotel, is resting his head on the window of the vehicle while tapping rhythmically on his left leg.

Before I know it, we arrive at the drop-off point of the terminal. I let out a relieved breath, relishing in the lack of paparazzi while we check our bags. I push my black Ray-Ban wayfarers from the top of my head to my face, still squinting in the harsh light regardless of my newly added shade. While I wait for the bag-checker to confirm the flight information for all five of us, I look over at Dom who seems to have broken his vow of silence as he chats casually with Morgan. Chris is looking at his phone, quickly typing what is probably an e-mail or text, and Tom is speaking to someone, likely his wife, on his own mobile.

After we are freed from our bulky luggage, we make our way into the terminal and get in line to wait for pre-check security, something I am shamelessly grateful for as little is worse than having to wait an hour to walk through something as measly as a metal detector.

We stand together in line and I try to ignore the feeling of eyes boring into the back of my head, although as soon as the sensation began, it ended just as quickly. When the suspicion returns, I turn around slightly to Dominic, who fails to avert his gaze fast enough. Our eyes lock for a moment before he absently looks around the airport.

Pulling out my iPhone, I open up my Messages app and type quickly.

**Something wrong?**

From behind me I can hear buzzing and shuffling as Dom checks his phone, reading my text.

**Nothing, why do you ask?** He just as quickly replies. I sigh, having a hard time reacting properly to his purposely ignorant response.

**Forget it** , I hit send, before adding in a separate text,  **Do u want to get something to eat before the flight?** Every ounce of me hopes that he’ll cave, knowing he has to be hungry given the fact that after packing, he probably only had enough time to go about his normal beauty routine before the Uber arrived earlier this afternoon. Not that I was complaining, his dark hair was pieced together perfectly and I thanked whatever deity existed for sleeveless shirts. Not to mention, his legs looked damn good in his faded black skinny jeans, riding just low enough to reveal a strip of bright pink boxers.

~~~

**Sure** , I reply to Matt, both relieved that he reached out to me while at the same time, very nervous. I mean, I didn’t have much time to get a bite to eat before we came to the airport, so I was undoubtedly hungry.

After getting to the front of the line, I remove my necklaces, sunglasses, belt, and place them in a bin along with my phone and wallet. I walk through the metal detector, smiling slightly at the TSA worker on the other side, and retrieve my belongings as they come out of the opposite end of the x-ray machine. I meet up with Chris and Tom while we wait for Matt and Morgan to follow suit. When the gang is back together, Matt hands each person their boarding pass and we go over how we have roughly forty minutes before we should be getting on the plane. Tom, Morgan, and Chris go separate ways, and I’m left standing in front of a Hudson News with Matt to my right.

“What are you in the mood for,” he asks, while picking up a book on display and flipping through the first few pages.

“I’m fine with anything, although I feel like I could really use a coffee. There should be a Starbucks toward our gate, if you’re okay going there,” I reply, toying with the belt loops of my jeans servously.

“Sounds good to me.” Matt puts down the book and starts walking through the terminal. His steps are fast, and I have to break into a slight jog to get up to where he is.

Stopping myself from tapping his shoulder, not sure if it was too early to break the physical barrier, I laugh slightly and sigh, smugly, “You’re going the wrong way, you know.”

His face reddens a bit and I laugh, only to be joined in my laughter after he corrects his mistake. It feels easy and normal, like nothing awkward or remotely romantic occurred between us last night. It’s times like this when I am thankful for our friendship having lasted over twenty years.

As we approach the Starbucks, fixed between a McDonald’s and yet another Hudson News, I take a peek at the pastry and food selection, already knowing my drink order. Matt follows suit and follows me in line.

The young and, admittedly cute, barista stationed at the register smiles and asks, “What can I get for you?”

“Well, your number, for starters,” I smile back, giving her a playful wink. She blushes and laughs, before her attention is stolen by the slightly shorter man next to me.

“I’ll have a tall black coffee, and this meal-box-thing,” Matt hurriedly says, sounding slightly irritated, as he places the food on the counter. I nudge him, and mouth “please,” trying to remind him of his manners. “Please,” he continues, to my satisfaction.

While writing his simple drink order on the paper cup, she looks back to me and smiles again. “What about you, cutie?” I feel a heated stare hitting the side of my face, and do my best to ignore it.

“Could I please have a latte with skim milk and one shot of espresso, as well as a oatmeal and banana, thanks.” The woman, in turn, writes my drink order on my own cup, and asks a coworker to get my food. I grab a banana from the countertop and after paying (along with a generous tip, more as an apology for Matt’s childish behavior as opposed to an attempt at buying one’s affection), I shuffle awkwardly to the pick-up counter as I tap my foot while waiting for my drink.

“Do you have to hit on every woman you see?” Matt grumbles lowly, and I let out a miffed laugh.

“There are plenty of women around the airport right now, you don’t see me hurling myself at them, do you?” The barista that made our drinks and that grabbed my oatmeal hands them to us, and I nod a “thank you” as I turn away, walking toward our gate.

“You know what I mean,” Matt groans.

“Well, she was cute, wasn’t she?”

At that, he lets out a breathy and, probably, forced laugh. “Not my type,” he nearly sneers, before adding, “just keep your dick in your pants, right?”

With that, we make our way to the gate in silence, before boarding the plane and settling down comfortably in first class. Trying not to re-establish the awkward air between us, I decide to man up and sit next to him as our passes had originally stated, as opposed to asking Chris, Morgan, or Tom to switch.

After the flight attendants went over their rehearsed spiel about flight safety, seat belt regulations, and what to do in the event of an emergency, I plug in my earbuds into my phone and, after shuffling my most recently crafted playlist, close my eyes, hoping that Matt won’t blow things out of proportion.


	8. Ruled by Secrecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making amends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my beta, pau93 on livejournal!! You should totally check out their material, I adore their fics. Anyhow, here it is!

Look at him. Just _look_ at him. He and his stupid hair, his stupid light tan, his stupid grey eyes that change color and shade with his mood, his stupid, perfect smile, his stupid fucking face.

He’s stupid.

What am I even saying? I’m stupid. He’s my friend. I find him a little attractive. Yes, I am completely aware of how much of an understatement that is, but I’m in my head, so it’s not like someone will come after me and have me hanged for lying.

I mean, really, though, who hasn’t had a gay thought or two about their best friend? Or three? Or twenty? Or who hasn't even just seen a glimpse of leopard print or hear the drumming of fingers or the way the sun pokes through an overcast sky, making you think of said best friend? No? Nobody? Am I the only one? Well then, I guess I’m royally fucked.

But shit, it was bound to happen at some point. The fact that I’m just now having this revelation, which needed to be encouraged by a fucking fortune teller that was probably a sham, is just un-fucking-believable, though, if you ask me.

I never once considered myself being with another man. Sure, the things I wear might be slightly indicative of my previously unknown “gay” feelings, but I like my style! If anyone has a problem with it, I am more than happy to throw one of my guitars in their face.

But still, this is utterly preposterous. I like chicks! Tits! Ass! I don’t like dudes. Maybe one, but whatever!!

I turn to my left and lean my head against the window of the plane, feeling the cold being transferred from the high altitude to the glass to my cheek. I can’t help but notice how Dominic’s mouth is slightly open, resulting in a quiet and admittedly cute snore. Along with an idea.

I’ve always had this habit of putting things in Dom’s mouth. He almost always sleeps with his mouth open, so it’s nearly impossible to resist. Among the objects that I’ve woken him up with in the past are: my iPhone, a strawberry, several cocktail umbrellas, his necklaces, and one of my socks, leading to one very sick Dominic. Looking around, I don’t see many things that could actually fit into his mouth, however after searching a bit longer, I find a bag of gummi bears in my carry-on. Smiling to myself, deciding I don’t give a damn about the other passengers in first class seeing me mess with my friend, I open the bag and begin dropping the candies into his mouth, one by one. Of course, given the size of the sweets, I need to get quite close so as to make sure one doesn’t find itself lodged in his throat. Leaning over him with my left elbow propped on the armrest, I resume my task. I think I’ve counted thirteen gummies so far.

I’m so distracted by my mission of filling his mouth with sugar that I seem to have missed him waking up and am met with stormy eyes looking at me in confusion, my hand still positioned over his face, ready to drop one more candy in his mouth.

I decide to not continue my game.

Bringing his hand against his face, he spits all of the gummi bears into his mouth, trying to look annoyed. However, knowing him for over twenty years, there is no way I could miss his subtle smile. “What the fuck was that for?” he harshly whispers.

“Temptation is a bitch,” I shrug, as my smirk turns into a full-blown smile.

“You’re going to choke me one of these days,” he sighs, and I wink at him, fully aware of the other meaning of the statement, causing him to laugh heartily.

He has such a wonderful laugh, which also causes me to break into my own fit of giggles. The tension from earlier today seems to have disappeared, and I decide that, despite my current giddy state, now would be the best time to talk to him about...us.

Managing to slightly calm down, I turn my body as much as the seat allows me to, and face him completely, my left leg tucked under me. A smile still in place, I somehow am able to start the conversation. “Dom, we really need to talk about something.” I try my best not to sound overly-serious or imposing, although I suppose that’s difficult to do when including a “weally.”

“Yeah, I think I know where this is going,” his tone deepens, a slight smile still on his face, but his eyes seem to darken.

“This probably isn’t the best location, but I think that it would be unhealthy for me to just keep waiting for the right moment.” He nods, and I continue. “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widen and he answers me with an eye-roll and a slap on my arm. “Matt, come on. None of that.”

“Okay, okay. Just thought I’d lighten the mood,” I mumble.

“As if shoving gummi bears down my throat wasn’t already doing that,” he jokes, earning a slight chuckle from me. “But really, just…” Waving his hand in the universal sign of “get on with it,” I acknowledge that I need to stop avoiding this.

“Fine.” I take a deep breath, and after looking around the cabin, I bring my eyes back to meet his. “Us. We’ve known each other for, what, twenty years, now?” He nods. “We grew up together, and went through some serious shit together. That, of course, would result in a really strong bond, y’know?” I try to slow myself down, noticing how my speech is becoming faster and more jumbled with every word. “But anyway, at first, I thought it was nothing, but it’s not like nothing would keep coming up again and again and again, right? Right.” The reassurance in his calming grey eyes pushes me to finish what I’ve started. “So obviously, this,” I use my hands to motion between us, “isn’t nothing. Now, I know this is totally ridiculous, and you will probably end up laughing in my face, but I have to tell you this or else it will kill me.”

~~~

I’m not sure I like where this is going. All it takes, though, is one look into his azure eyes to make me feel reassured. I trust Matt, he wouldn’t do anything horrible or make me mad intentionally.

“I fancy you, I think.” And right then, my heart seems to stop. This is a dream, right? I’m still sleeping, and Matt is dropping gummi bears in my mouth. 

“Come again,” I practically whisper, after managing to free myself of the daze.

“Look, it’s not like I expect you to reciprocate, or anything. Not at all. You’re like, the straightest guy I know,” he blushes, before adding, “save the leopard print, but who am I to judge?” Cheeky.

“No, no, no no,” I sputter, and I notice how my cheeks are beginning to hurt, alerting me of the probably comically large smile on my face right now. “No,” I laugh. “Oh my god, Matthew, you’re so stupid.” His expression falls from one of nervousness to one of rejection, so I decide that the best thing that I can do is continue. “Honestly, don’t worry about it. It might sound dumb, but I feel the same.” I blush. “I’ve been pretty infatuated for a while.”

His eyes widen, and now it’s his turn to blush. He looks down at his hands and laughs a bit. “Are you serious? It’s just... wow. I feel like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“It’s the same for me, I mean, you never really showed any interest in me, ever. So, I thought I would have to deal with feeling attracted to my best friend for the rest of my life. It’s hard enough not popping a boner on stage every time you straddle my damn bass-drum.” I process my words too late, and blush, but I am relieved to have Matthew thrown into a giggling fit, and I join him.

After his laughter dies down, his eyes lock with mine, and despite his small smile, I can tell he’s trying to get serious again. “So, what do we do now?”

“I really wish I knew. I mean, do we tell Chris? What about Elle?” I notice how my voice is beginning to shake, and I try my best to calm down.

“Shit, yeah, I forgot about her,” he laughs slightly, although it’s obvious that his nervousness is mirroring mine. “Don’t want to do that.”

“I mean, it’s not that serious, right? We have time. It’s not like we’re getting married or anything,” although I will admit I’m not against that idea. Wouldn’t we be better than some of those couples that get married after three months? What’s that show on the American channel, TLC? 90 Day Engagement? Jesus.

“You’re right, we can talk about all this stuff later. The air in this plane seems to be getting too sinister to me.” He wiggles his eyebrows and I can’t help but let out a loud laugh, much to the annoyance of the other passengers.

We sit in comfortable silence for the rest of the flight, and I realize that I don’t think I’ve felt this content in a long time.


	9. Overdue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a flashback to when they first met. I hope that it is clear who is speaking when, but if not, it starts with Dom. Following the "~~~," Matt is the narrator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan for some future chapters to be more flashbacks, both because I adore teen!muse and I PROMISE that I am going somewhere with this.
> 
> Beta'd by my fanfiction-writing-goals, PwoperNinjaElf! Thank you!

I had seen him around school, sure, but nobody seemed to pay much attention to him. He’s scrawny, pale (even for a Brit), and has a funky-looking nose.

The thing is, though, is that he’s good at music.

He’s played guitar in numerous school performances, and a few times I’ve seen him playing piano in the music room. Tom says his name is Matt.

I walk up to the brown-haired boy. “Hey. I’m Dominic.”

He gives me a slight smile, revealing a front tooth sticking out a bit further than the rest. “Hi, Dominic. I’m Matthew.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. “You can call me Matt, though, if you like,” he coughs, moving his gaze to the ground.

“Alright, Matt,” I smile, letting go of his hand. “I’ve seen you playing guitar around school before, and it just so happens that my band needs a guitarist. Now, I know that we’re not really into the same type of music, but still…”

“I’d love to,” he excitedly cuts in. “That… that would be a lot of fun!” He brings his eyes back to my own, and I curse myself for just now noticing their electric-blue shade.

“Cool, right. Well, like I said, our ideas of music are pretty different, given my band is sort of, what would you call it, rock? Y’know, I’m not even sure. What I’m saying is, it’s not like jazz, classical, or any of that stuff.”

To my relief, he’s still smiling when he answers. “Yeah, no, it’s alright.” I can’t help but smile at the way he pronounced that last word. “Nothing’s wrong with branching out a bit, yeah?” I nod furiously, trying to not laugh at his speech impediment.

“Of course not! I mean, if you’d like, I’d be more than happy to get you a few CDs with some stuff I’m into, and you could do the same for me? We could both teach each other something.”

“Brilliant. I’ll definitely work on that when I get home.” A shrill bell rings from behind me and Matt and I groan. 

“Lunch is just about over. We should get going, but I’ll see you around!” I wave as he heads toward the building, and I smile to myself, knowing that even if our band does end up sounding like shit, I’ll at least have gotten a new friend out of it.

I’m getting a bit tired of Tom’s antics, anyway.

*That Night*

As soon as I got home from school, I said a quick “hi” to my mum, and made a beeline for my room. Now out of my stuffy uniform, I’m seated at my desk, my prized collection of music on display in front of me. Primus, The Cure, Rage Against the Machine, Queen, Jimi Hendrix and basically everything else I could ever need. Before long, I notice how my legs are starting to shake and I know for a fact that it’s not due to my undeniable drumming skills making an appearance away from my kit.

I’m anxious.

I don’t know why, but I just am. It’s been a “coping” mechanism, of sorts, for me, as some people might bite their nails or mess with their clothing. But the thing is, I don’t know why I’m nervous! Nothing big in school is coming up, I don’t have a date with any girls in the near future, and I’ve already passed my driving test (on the first time, mind you).

Could it be because of Matthew? I had just met him today. He seems really nice. I don’t know much about him, other than the fact that we both have a strong passion for music and have been mutual friends with Tom for a while. Although, to be fair, I can’t put all of the blame on Tom for our delayed meeting. It can only really be my fault that I hadn’t spoken to him sooner.

As much as I hate to admit it, though, I can’t think of any other reason as to why I would be feeling so restless. It seems like every time I look at my blue duvet or a small patch of clear sky managing to evade the constant cover of clouds, I just remember his eyes. Yeah, it sounds stupid, I know, but you would be doing the same if you had seen them! I swear, nothing compares to Matthew’s irises. 

What might sound even stupider (fuck off, I don’t care that it’s not a word), is that when he smiled, it felt as if it were only me and him in that moment. Something is just so endearing about it. Regardless, I can’t help my nature at the moment, so I try to push my thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. I open one of my drawers and pull out a red pen and piece of lined paper. 

Looking at the discography on the back of each of my CDs, I write down the track number, name, and album for each song, creating a fantastic playlist, if I do say so myself. After finishing, I look down at the paper and marvel at the genius which I have just compiled. ((Playlist is on Spotify, if you want to listen: https://play.spotify.com/user/mipagano/playlist/3EapWLuBfDcdDBPmIrmZ1l ))

I am doing God’s work, I am.

~~~

The entire way home from school, a smile was plastered on my face. Gran gave me a weird look when she saw me walk through the door, beaming like I was, but I know that she was actually pleased to see me come home like this for once.

I will admit, school has been pretty hard. I miss Mum and Dad like crazy, although I keep reminding myself that they did what they did for a reason. You can’t expect people to stay together if they don’t love each other, and I certainly didn’t expect that from my parents.

However, my constant self-reassurance often isn’t enough to get me “noticed” in school. It’s not like I want to be the center of attention, y’know? It's just that always being alone, or alienated from everyone else, can be a bit discouraging. But I feel good now, and that’s what matters. I’m not expecting Dominic to erase all of my problems, help me get better marks, or eliminate the hurt that accumulates after a few years following a divorce. Although, I know that he will be a positive addition to my life. 

Nobody with a smile as contagious as his would be a bad person deep down. And even if there are exceptions, he isn’t one of them. I just get a good feeling from Dominic, even if I only spent about two minutes talking to him today.

I throw myself on my bed, and stare at the ceiling, covered in glow-in-the-dark stars I had plastered up there maybe two years ago, although I can’t really be bothered to take them down now. I like them, anyway.

Glancing to my left, I catch sight of my acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. My thought process following that observation is pretty self-explanatory: guitar > music > playlist > Dominic. 

I’m not entirely sure what to expect from him, however I don’t want my compilation to be anything less than stellar. Picking myself up from my bed, I trudge over to the record case placed squarely on top of my dresser. Reaching out to pick up a few CDs, I see the crisp, white cuff of my shirt and decide that I should at least get out of my uniform before making any serious decisions. Reaching in my dresser, I pull out two articles randomly - baggy blue jeans and a dark green jumper. I shrug them on, and after kicking my school clothes into the corner, my attention is brought back to my music.

Dominic wasn’t completely wrong when he said he knew I listened to jazz and classical, although I’m not so closed minded as to limit myself to only two genres. I’m pretty satisfied with my collection, ranging from Chopin, to Tom Waits, to Jeff Buckley, to Prince. Pulling out my favorite albums, I decide that it would be best to let Dominic decide for himself which tracks to listen to, so I head back to my discarded pile of clothes, dropping the CDs on top of them, knowing that in doing so, I would not forget them the next morning.

Smiling to myself, I sit down at my artificial-wood desk, upon which my trusty computer is stationed. In most houses, the computer would be somewhere accessible to all members, but since it’s just me and my Gran in this flat, it remains in my room.

I sign on and am greeted with melodic dings and ringing, alerting me of a new email. Sliding around in my spinny-chair, I open Internet Explorer and view my new message.

 **To: mbellamy@hotmail.co.uk**  
**From: djhoward@hotmail.co.uk**  
**Subject: hi there!!**  
**Message:**  
**hi matt!! this is dominic. i got ur email from tom, hopw u dont mind! :D i already have the cds together 2 give 2 u tomorow, i think ull like them! i just thought id tell u a little abt the band - im the drummer, and my mate chris is the bassist. were called gothic plague, but if im bein honest, i hope we change it soon. i know were a rock band but im not a dark eprson! anyway, tomorrow after school we r gonna go 2 chriss house n practice. bring ur guitar n u can head over wit us! c u tomorrow!**  
**-Dom**

I laugh a little to myself, noticing how his cheerful personality over the Internet is no different from how he is in real life. Gothic Plague sounds cool, I guess, but I agree, such a dark name doesn't fit him very well. I wonder what Chris is like. I wonder if either of them are any good at playing their instruments.

“Matthew, come down for dinner,” I hear Gran yell from the bottom of the stairs. I push myself away from my workstation, and trudge out of my room.

Not even my grandmother’s poor attempt at pesto can soil my good mood, and I owe that all to a certain blond beauty.

Wait, _beauty_?


	10. Big Freeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to PwoperNinjaElf for beta-ing this chapter! Also, credit to my pal Margaret (she doesn't have an AO3 acc) for looking it over. enjoy!

After a very successful concert in Quebec, with several more to follow in Canada, I plop down on the soft duvet of the large hotel-bed. Don’t get me wrong, I love touring. I love playing live. I love the energy from the crowd, the feel of being on stage, the knowledge that I’ve touched the lives of those in the crowd.

But damn, if I’m being honest, it gets exhausting.

I kick my black trainers off and don’t even bother changing into more comfortable clothes. Climbing under the covers, I smile slightly to myself. I blindly reach for the switch of my bedside lamp, and after accomplishing my task, I fall back onto the pillows and into sleep easily. 

_ “Matt, what are you doing?” Dominic asks aggressively. I lean in yet again, only to be met with a hand on my mouth. “What the fuck, stop!” _

_ “Dom? What?” I feel my eyes widen. Surely, nothing is wrong with kissing my boyfriend. And I know it’s not like we’re moving too fast. He’s usually more of a  “Wham-bam-thank you, ma’am” kind of guy. _

_ “I’m not  _ gay _ , mate. What is wrong with you?” The only emotion I can see as I search his face is pure disgust, and I feel my chest start to tighten. _

_ All I can manage to do is sputter in response. _

_ “Are you confused?” I nod. “Then let me spell it out for you. Any type of ‘attraction’ you ever sensed from me toward you was a farce. Do you understand? It’s what the fans want.” My face must have become increasingly more distorted in confusion since he began talking, because he simply sighs in annoyance. “You think I actually am into you like that?” He laughs. “It’s beyond me how you could even managed to have a kid with Kate. I mean, she’s  _ hot _ , and you’re… you. I mean, really. Use your head, Matt.” _

_ Warm tears begin to trail down my cheeks, and I bite the inside of my bottom lip to keep myself from crying. Shakily, I counter, “B-but you said… nobody was around then. On the airplane. I told you how I really felt. You said you felt the same.” I sniffle, but push myself to continue. “What could you gain from lying to me like that?” _

_ “Well, it only makes sense that this whole charade would seem more believable if you were invested. Let me tell you, you’re not the best actor. Although, like I said, I never thought you could be so stupid.” Dominic looks around, eyes looking everywhere but my face. “I’m sorry, Matt, but you need to just get over it. I could never, in a million years, have feelings like that for you.” This was not Dom, at least not the one I know. As he finishes his unnecessarily harsh apology, the floodgates open and I lose control of my body, resulting in harsh sobs and my fingers pulling mercilessly at my hair. _

I wake up instantly, feeling panicked as I look around the clean hotel room. All I can make out are the blurry shapes of the furniture, and my hand reaching up to my left cheek indicates that yes, I have been crying.

Although I’m perfectly aware that it was just a dream, the pain in my chest remains and I close my eyes, willing myself to calm down. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

I open my eyes and glance to the right bedside table, noticing that it’s just past 10:00 in the morning. In my back pocket, I feel a rapid vibration and reach beneath me, pulling out my mobile. Just as I process the notification on my screen, I’ve missed a call from Dom A. That had been preceded by twelve texts and three calls from Tom, Chris and Dominic. My lips form a tight line and I send the four a short text explaining that I’ll be downstairs to meet up with them after I shower. Plugging the iPhone into my charger, I lazily walk into the en suite and turn on the warm water.

Even the shower can’t clear my head of what I dreamed of last night. The whole situation seemed so real.

While I know that Dominic would never be so harsh with me, whatever the reason, I dread the nearing discussion about my dream. Obviously,  _ not _ telling Dom isn’t an option, I know that it will eat at me more and more every day that I go without knowing whether he actually feels the same way I do or not. I mean, he said that he reciprocated my feelings when we were on the plane, and if the past is any indication, he was probably telling the truth when he said he had felt the same for a really long time. Right?

I finish cleaning myself, turn off the shower, and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. Looking at myself in the mirror, I am relieved to see that my eyes are no longer puffy and my face seems to be red due only to the temperature of the water. Deciding that I look presentable enough to meet up with everyone, I walk back into my room. I rummage through the clothing in my trolley, deciding on dark blue jeans and a white graphic tee. Slipping my clothes on, I head downstairs and face the day.

***

After going over the day’s itinerary, I am satisfied in knowing that I have a good eight hours before everyone needs to regroup and prepare for the next show. A few minutes ago, I ran up to my room to grab my parka, which I had been stupid enough to forget, and I am now standing near the front of the lobby, checking the weather on my mobile phone. Everything seems to be in order.

Given that we are in Canada, now seems to be the perfect time to learn something I had always wanted to try - snowboarding. Dom is absolutely amazing at it, and I thought that I could kill two birds with one stone in asking him to “teach” me while also getting some alone-time with him, allowing me to bring up my dream from last night.

Dominic, of course, agreed excitedly and so, we are now stepping into a white shuttle-bus that will take us to the “slopes”, as the cool kids call them. I sit down next to him in the very back row, making sure to be mindful of the fact that others might be planning on joining us in our journey, however, to my surprise, we are the only ones in the vehicle (save the driver).

I turn slightly in my seat, and I seem to lose the courage to face Dom directly, as my eyes are glued to my hands in my lap. Way to be a man, Bellamy. “Okay, Dom, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Matt, I know you haven’t snowboarded before, and it’s okay to be nervous. It’s really easy once you get the hang of it.” His warm voice calms me a bit and I can’t help but chuckle slightly at my apparent miscommunication.

“As much as I wish that were the topic of discussion, I can’t necessarily avoid talking about this, so I need to tell you,” I take a deep breath and continue. “I had this really weird dream last night. I won’t bore you with the details, but I’ll give you the jist of it: you… you said that you really didn’t… like me? Is that how I should put it? Whatever. Anyway, you said that it was all for publicity, that I didn’t really mean anything to you. So, Dominic, I apologize if I sound like I’m making wild accusations, but I need to know if this is actually the case. Please. If it is, I’ll leave you alone and we can pretend like none of this ever happened!”

The last thing I expected to hear in response was a laugh, yet he did not fail to deliver. “Matt, are you serious?” I look up to meet calm, grey eyes and I let out a breath I somehow didn’t know I had been holding. “Look, I might not be the best at sustaining romantic relationships, as you know,” he smirks, “but at least now, now that this whole thing has been established, this isn’t something I am trying to end as soon as possible. If I ever make it seem as if I’ve lost interest, just talk to me. However, I expect it to be the other way around, as I don’t think I’ll be getting sick of you any time soon.” Dom laughs again, and I feel a small smile start to form on my face.

“You sure you’re not just saying that because you suspect the driver might be a fan?” I glance toward the front of the car, just now noticing how the middle-aged white man was driving with one hand on the wheel, and the other supporting a small Blackberry near his right ear. He wasn’t paying attention to us at all.

I feel arms wrap around me and I enjoy the feeling of being enveloped in a warm hug, deciding that one was long due. He laughs softer than before and replies, “You’re such an idiot, of course not. I meant everything I just said.” In response, I lean into the embrace and burrow my head in between his neck and shoulder.

Deciding that this position would likely grow painful in a short period of time, I begrudgingly wiggle my way out of his arms and settle on sitting closely next to him, my head leaning on his left shoulder. A few seconds after I make myself comfortable, I close my eyes as I feel his head lean on top of mine.

~~~

“No, no, you want to be doing  _ pizza _ ,” I yell from the top of the small hill, trying my best to not laugh as Matt gets used to the feeling of gliding over the snow. We both decided that because skiing is easier than snowboarding, I would teach him how to do exactly that before moving onto something a bit more advanced.

Falling down for what must have been the seventh time in the last ten minutes, he groans loudly. “What the fuck is pizza?!”

“We went over this on the lifts; pizza is where the front of your skis are pointing toward each other, and french fries is when they are parallel. You use pizza to slow down and french fries to speed up.” Smiling softly to myself, thankful for my hood to be covering up the lower-portion of my face, which would have been sporting a cheeky grin had it been out in the open.

Matt manages to get himself up, and shuffles his way to the top of the bunny-slope, eager to give it another shot. I must admit, I admire how he did not let his pride consume him, as the eight year olds around us seem to have gotten the hang of it much sooner than him. “Remember to keep your knees slightly bent,” I yell, and my face lights up as he sticks his poles into the snow and pushes himself down the hill. Slowly, and without any wipe outs, he makes it. Turning around awkwardly on his skis at the bottom, he raises his arms triumphantly. Although I had not thought it possible, my smile seems to grow to the point of becoming painful.

With ease, I maneuver past the younger kids down the slope and stop myself in front of Matt. I remove my goggles and I move my hood out of my face, taking in the picture of accomplishment beaming before me. “Did you see that? I did it, Dom! I didn’t even fall!” He takes off his goggles in turn and squints, however, his face conveys only pure happiness.

“Yes, I did! That was amazing!” I decide to take a risk and lean in awkwardly as I give him a quick peck on the cheek, noting the blush on his face that I doubt is from the cold. His grin is still ever-present, showing off his skew tooth to all that will stop to look, and we both break into light-hearted laughs. “I think I’m ready for the larger hills now!”

“Matthew, it’s not the size that matters, but how you use it,” I retort with a wink. At that, his laughter increases in both pitch and intensity and I can’t help but follow suit. I calm myself down, sniffling a little, and bend down to pick up my poles, which I had abandoned in the snow earlier. “But are you sure? If you’re tired, or if you want to get a bit more acquainted with the feel of skis, it’s okay. I won’t push you.”

“Don’t worry about it, really. I can’t really get any better if I keep doing the same-level thing over and over again, yeah? You need to take risks!” To be fair, he had every right to lecture me about risks, especially when it sounds more like a certain kitchen utensil when he says it.

“Okay, okay, whatever you say, Shaun White,” I chuckle.

“Who?”

***

“That was amazing! I mean, my arse is probably going to be sore for the next week, but it was so worth it,” Matt grins, earning a few odd looks from passersby.

“I’m glad you had fun. Are you sure you’re not too hurt? You did take a pretty nasty fall near the end, there.” I note how my own calves are starting to burn, wishing my strength were in areas other than just my upper body. These skinny-Brit legs were not made for such strenuous activity.

“No, I’m alright.” We both hear a high-pitched grumble. “Although, I am feeling pretty hungry. The lodge-thing near the entrance has food, right?”

“A cafeteria, yeah. They have, like, pizza, chips, cheese curds, stuff like that.” I pat my own stomach, remembering my lacking breakfast, consisting of an out-of-season orange and a granola bar. “I could go for some hot chocolate, too.”

Matt brings his left hand up to my cheek, and waddles past, the contact ending as soon as it had started. “You had me at ‘cheese curds’.”

“The only way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?” I laugh, hoping that my attempt at a “joke” didn’t make things too awkward.

“You speak only the truth,” he responds, and my anxieties fade into a smile matching his own. “Come on, though, let’s go,” he speeds, grabbing my gloved hand and abandoning our skis completely. I try to pull back in protest, to at least retrieve the rented items, but he just scoffs. “Relax. Everyone here already has their own skis. If they get taken, we can just replace them. No big deal.” I sigh, and allow myself to be dragged off by the hyperactive thirty-eight year old.

While he may seem disagreeable at times, Matt really is sympathetic and helps ground me. And damn, if I’m being honest, I could not be happier that he trusted me enough to be honest with me about how he feels. If it were left to me, I don’t think we’d be here right now.


End file.
